“Well, that first part’s clearly about you, Mr. Argos,” Carl said, pointing to the very first lines of the prophecy.
“Who is Meester?” the soldier asked Ian, eyeing Carl as if he were a bit daft.
“Uh,” Ian said, not knowing how to explain that to the Phoenician soldier. “It’s what we say when talking to someone older than us.”
Argos scratched his head. “You all have very odd customs,” he said.
Ian turned to Carl. “Maybe we should just call him Argos from now on?”
Carl shrugged as if it made no difference to him, and tapped the paper again. “You’ll have to agree that these lines are about him, though, right, Ian?”
Ian nodded and noticed that the soldier held a faraway look in his eyes. For a long time the man was silent, likely mulling over all that Ian and Carl had told him, but at last he said, “I am to assist you with your quest. The Oracle has foretold it, and as her servant, I am bound by oath to obey.”
Ian pointed to the closed wall of the portal. “I think that’s the reason it opened for you. I don’t know what you’re supposed to do here, but it’s clear—given these first few lines of the prophecy—that we’ll need you.”
Argos also looked to the end of the tunnel, and Ian felt a pang at the sadness and worry etched in the features of the man. “I will do as the prophecy instructs and hope that if I see your quest through, I will be allowed to go back to my home in Phoenicia.”
“That’s all well and good,” Carl said, motioning at the man’s clothes, “but how are we ever going to explain you to everyone else?”
Ian blanched. Carl was right. Argos would stick out like a sore thumb, and in these dire times any stranger out of uniform in the village was looked at with suspicion. “We’ll need to find you some proper clothes,” Ian said, lifting the small pouch from around his neck and handing it to the soldier. “And you’ll need to wear that,” he added.
Argos considered the pouch before taking it, and opened it up to peer inside. Tipping out the small bit of opal into his hand, he said, “A beautiful jewel, but what need have I to wear such a thing?”
“It’s from the Star of Lixus,” Ian explained. “It will allow you to understand any language. You’ll be able to communicate with anyone if you wear it.”
Argos put the opal back in the pouch and looped it over his head. “If you say so,” he said.
“He’ll have to stay here until we can get him some proper clothes,” Carl said.
“We’ll have to inform the earl,” Ian said. “He’ll know how best to handle Argos’s appearance.”
Ian felt uneasy about leaving Argos alone, but the soldier assured them that he would stay put. “You have given me a great deal to consider, Ian and Carl Lawson. I will stay and sort out everything you have told me, and wait for you to return.”
With that, the two trotted quickly up the stairs and were on their way.
Once they’d reached the edge of the wood, they saw Jaaved jogging in the direction of the village. Ian called to him, and the Moroccan boy spun on his heel and hurried back. “I was looking for you two.”
“Is there news?” Ian asked, his heart pounding with dread.
Jaaved shook his head. “No. I was sitting with Theo and she said to go looking for you. She said she couldn’t put her finger on it, but she thought you might need another bit of the Star.”
Jaaved raised a small pouch identical to the one Ian had given Argos, and Ian took it, marveling at Theo’s keen ability.
“Thank you,” he said. He knew he should share with Jaaved the story of the soldier’s appearance, but not wanting to tell it twice, he asked, “Have you seen the earl?”
“I expect he’s back at the castle,” Jaaved said. “We’re all waiting on word from the surgeon about Madam Dimbleby.”
“Let’s be off, then!” Carl said impatiently. “The longer we wait here, the more time we waste.”
When they finally reached the front of the castle, they found a mass of soldiers queuing up to go through the main doors to report for duty. These were the same soldiers who’d just arrived in Dover, Ian assumed.
Searching the grounds, he saw Theo standing at the far eastern entrance, looking about as if she expected to see them at any moment. Ian called to her and she flew toward him.
When she reached him, she hugged him so fiercely that he had difficulty breathing. A small sob escaped her and she pulled her head back to regard him. “I saw him stab you,” she said hoarsely. “Just before the German prisoners attacked, I had a terrible vision of that dreadful man stabbing you to death!”
Ian was quick to shake his head. “No, Theo,” he said. “I’m right as rain. Madam Dimbleby took the blade. It never even nicked me.”
Theo considered him and said, “You’ve brought news.” Ian wondered how much her intuition was telling her about the appearance of Argos.
“Yes,” he said. “But the earl will need to hear it too. Have you seen him?”
Theo opened her mouth to reply, but before she even had a chance, a green motorcar filled with military police pulled to an abrupt stop next to them, and the men quickly surrounded Ian, Theo, Carl, and Jaaved. “Ian Wigby?” one of the grim-faced men asked.
“Yes?”
“Come with us.”
The order was direct and allowed no room for argument. Ian knew in an instant he was in terrible trouble, but he couldn’t for the life of him imagine for what.
“Why should he come with you?” Carl demanded, stepping protectively closer to Ian.
But the military police gave no reply. Instead, one of the officers shoved Carl aside and Ian was forcefully grabbed underneath each arm and pushed unwillingly into the awaiting vehicle. “Oy!” Carl shouted as the door slammed and Ian was wedged between two soldiers. “What’s he done? Where are you taking him?”
But no one answered him, and as the driver depressed the gas, Ian had a chance to see Theo’s features crease with worry.
He was driven only a short distance, to the west wing of the castle, and he wondered why the soldiers hadn’t merely walked over to escort him to that entrance.
Once clear of the vehicle, he was again held fast under each arm and marched into the entrance, which was guarded by another soldier, who saluted as the military police passed by.
After the group gained access to the building, Ian was walked briskly down a hallway and through a door then ordered to stand with his arms outstretched. He did so without complaint until one of the soldiers began to search his pockets, pulling out all the contents to inspect them and laying them on a nearby table. “Those are my things!” Ian cried, but the soldier paid him no mind. Instead, he continued with his search, pulling out Ian’s sundial and his map of the many tunnels that ran under Dover. When the soldier unfolded his map and inspected the drawing, Ian attempted to swipe it from him but was roughly cuffed by the other guard and told to keep still.
Ian glowered at the soldier when he pocketed the map and motioned to the other soldier to leave. Without a word the two men left the room and shut the door with a hard slam. Almost immediately after, Ian heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock on the other side and the click as he was firmly shut in.
Ian frowned and kicked the leg of the table. They had no right to take his map from him. Still, he decided that it was a good thing they’d left his sundial at least.
Glumly he walked to the chair on the other side of the table and sat down.
To distract himself he looked all about the room, which, except for the table and chair, was empty. It also held a small window, and Ian eyed it to see if he could fit through and escape. He had no idea why he was being treated like a criminal, but he knew he didn’t particularly feel obliged to find out. The window, however, was far too small and he sighed as he bleakly surveyed the rest of his surroundings.
He knew that just down the corridor was the earl’s study, which the man still retained for his private usage, although he allowed His Majesty’s
armed services to use much of the rest of this side of the castle as they saw fit.
In this room, however, there was nothing to amuse Ian and he quickly grew bored. Later, when he’d concluded by the shadows creeping along the wall that he’d been in the room for several hours, the door opened abruptly and in stepped his military police escort. “Come with us,” said one of the men.
Ian got to his feet and moved obediently to stand again between his escorts, who, fortunately, did not hold him gruffly under the arms as they had before. The small party marched through the door and turned left, heading in the direction of the earl’s study. Ian was surprised by this, because he knew the earl would not like it if he learned that a member of the military was utilizing his personal study.
Then again, perhaps the earl had recently obliged them the full use of this wing.
The soldiers led him directly up to the earl’s study door before halting. The man to his right gave two hard knocks, and from inside Ian heard someone bark, “Enter!”
The door was pushed open and Ian was shoved a bit roughly through by the soldier on his left. When he had a moment to take in the people in the room, he was more than a little shocked.
Sitting commandingly behind his desk was the earl himself, looking slightly fatigued and largely concerned. Standing to his right was Admiral Ramsey, and on the left, surrounded by more military police, was the German commander, who was now sporting two black eyes, a large cut above one brow, and a fat lip, to boot.
Ian sucked in a breath when he took in the commander, and he was even more unsettled when he realized that the German’s coat was smeared with blood. Madam Dimbleby’s blood.
Anger flooded Ian from head to toe. His hands curled into fists and he glared hard at the German, who stared sullenly back through his swollen eyes and spat at Ian. “You traitor!” the German growled. “I know your accent is too perfect for you to be English! You are German and you betray the Reich!”
Ian couldn’t help himself and in a flash he lost all control. He lurched forward in an effort to attack the commander but was caught and held firmly in check by his own guards. “Liar!” he shouted at the prisoner, rage coursing through him. “If Madam Dimbleby dies, I’ll not rest until I see you hang for it!”
The earl stood so abruptly that he knocked his chair back and it fell over. The noise startled Ian and jerked his attention to the earl. Trembling with a rush of adrenaline, Ian looked up at his patriarch, who was eyeing him with such anger that Ian quickly deflated and reined in his emotions. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said to the earl, whose lips were compressed to form a very thin line.
“Speak English, lad,” the earl said curtly.
Ian’s eyes bulged. He quickly realized that the bit of the Star he wore had caused him to speak in the prisoner’s tongue, and now he had his first inkling of why he was here, surrounded by guards. Ian cleared his throat. “I’m terribly sorry, my lord,” he said, bowing his head and dropping his eyes to the floor.
“You see, Hastings?” the admiral snapped, even as he motioned impatiently for the guards surrounding the German prisoner to take him and exit the study. “He gives himself away! This young man of yours is clearly a German spy!”
Ian had looked up at the commander as the man was being roughly taken out of the room, but his head snapped to the admiral when he heard the accusation. “I’m not a spy!” Ian protested.
One quick look from the earl made him shut his mouth tightly. “The lad speaks a bit of German, Peers,” his patriarch said calmly as he reached over to right his chair and take his seat again. “Several of my orphans speak it, in fact, as I insisted that their schoolmasters give them lessons in German, French, and Latin well before the war broke out. Knowing how to speak the enemy’s language hardly makes the young man a spy.”
But the admiral didn’t look convinced. “Oh, I speak a bit of German myself, Hastings, and I heard him,” he said to the earl. “I heard that boy shout to the German commander to stab me!”
Ian shook his head vehemently, wanting with all his might to explain to the admiral that he hadn’t shouted for the commander to attack. He’d shouted a warning. Unfortunately, Ian now knew that he’d shouted that warning in German.
The earl regarded Ian for a long moment, and Ian thought the earl might be considering how much to explain to the admiral about Ian’s ease with the German language and how much to keep secret.
Theo, Jaaved, Eva, Carl, and Ian had all been warned by the earl not to reveal anything about Laodamia or the quest they had embarked on to anyone outside Delphi Keep, lest it invite too much interest or suspicion.
Finally, however, the earl said, “Ian, tell the admiral what happened leading up to the prisoners’ attack and what you heard the Germans say.”
Ian noted the slight warning in the earl’s eyes, and he understood perfectly that he needed to stick to the story—that his schoolmasters had taught him to speak German—and not mention the Star. He took a breath, then explained. “I was on the bus, my lord, seeing the last group from Delphi Keep off, and the bus was terribly stuffy, you see, so I opened a few of the windows. That’s when I overheard the commander telling the other prisoners to attack on his signal. He told them to go for our soldiers’ guns and kill as many of us as they could.
“He also specifically mentioned killing you, Admiral Ramsey, and in my panic and haste to warn you, I forgot to speak English. My mind was so focused on interpreting what the Germans were saying that it didn’t switch back over to my native tongue until too late.”
The admiral regarded him shrewdly. “Your native tongue,” he said simply. “Might that actually be German, lad?”
Ian’s jaw fell open, but before he had a chance to defend himself, the admiral pressed his point by saying, “You could easily pass for a German citizen, with your light hair and blue eyes and tall build. You are tall for your age, are you not, Mr. Wigby?”
“Peers,” the earl warned quietly. “You are far too suspicious for your own good. Ian Wigby has been at my orphanage since he was a babe no older than a day.”
The admiral’s eyes cut to the earl. “And yet my men have discovered this map on his person! The young man carries a map of secret tunnels and passageways that would allow our enemies to catch us unawares!” For emphasis, the admiral removed Ian’s folded map from his inside pocket and tossed it rudely onto the earl’s desk.
Ian grimaced and barely resisted the urge to surge forward and grab the map. Only the earl’s calm demeanor held him back.
Picking up the map, the earl unfolded it and considered Ian’s sketches of the many tunnels that ran underneath the grounds all along the White Cliffs of Dover. Ian knew the earl had seen his map before—he himself had shown it to his patriarch—but at the moment he seemed to study it as if he had never laid eyes on it.
Looking up at Ian, the earl then said, “Well done, Master Wigby. I see that your devotion to the project I assigned to you has in fact been thoroughly documented.”
Ian blinked furiously at the earl before he caught the quick wink the earl sent him. “Thank you, my lord,” he said, although he hardly knew what for.
“What are you talking about?” snapped the admiral, clearly forgetting that he was addressing an earl.
But Lord Hastings Arbuthnot hardly seemed to notice Admiral Ramsey’s impropriety. Instead, he chuckled as if he held some inside joke, and regarded the admiral merrily. “As I know that Ian greatly enjoys exploring the many caves and tunnels that are part of the landscape near my castle, I asked him many months ago to begin sketching out a map of the underground tunnels leading out from Castle Dover so that I might offer you and your men a safe place should the worst happen and the Germans invade our coast. This map is rather crude, but nearly complete, am I right, Ian?”
Ian nodded vigorously. “Yes, my lord. I was almost finished searching through all the tunnels. There are quite a few, as you can see, and I had planned to make you a much neater master map to give to the admiral by we
ek’s end.”
The earl smiled at him and nodded, clearly pleased with his answer. “You see, Peers? Ian had nothing but the best of intentions.”
“Best of intentions?” the admiral repeated, shaking his head as if he seriously doubted that. The admiral then took a different turn and said, “I understand that the lad was visited by a couple from Austria who wished to adopt him, and they had a private meeting with him. Perhaps you could explain to me, Hastings, how a young man of unknown origins came to have a private meeting with enemies of the crown?”
Ian’s mouth fell open again. The admiral was twisting events to fit his theory that Ian was a spy, and the thought so offended him that he could hardly contain himself.
The earl, however, gave Ian a small shake of his head, to warn him against a sudden outburst, before he stood up to face the admiral. “The Austrian couple appeared on the doorstep of Delphi Keep some two years ago to make inquiries into the adoption of two of my orphans. They were very specific in their request to adopt two older children, as they claimed not to have the patience to care for babes.
“The couple then proceeded to have brief interviews with at least a dozen of my orphans, which is a common practice when an interested couple wishes to adopt any child over the age of three. As I suggested, these interviews took place two years previous, which I must also note was well before the war began. And further, they chose not to adopt Ian, but instead took home another young lad and a girl.”
The earl paused then to gauge the admiral’s reaction to his argument, and after noting that Admiral Ramsey was clearly still suspicious, the earl sighed and added, “My dear friend Peers, you have known me since primary school. Our mothers were also quite close; can you not take the word of an old friend as voucher for the lad’s loyalty to king and crown?”
Admiral Ramsey considered the earl a while. Finally, he gave a long, tired sigh himself and nodded. “Very well, Hastings,” he said rather reluctantly, and motioned for the guards at Ian’s side to step back.
Ian felt a wave of relief when the soldiers moved back to the door and stood at ease. “Thank you, Admiral,” he said. When the admiral did not look at him, Ian felt the need to say more. “Sir, may I just say that I would never, ever put you or Madam Dimbleby in harm’s way. In fact, I would never put anyone I know or have great affection for in danger. My loyalty is, as the earl suggests, to His Majesty and England as long as I live.”